


Unrelenting

by l57371



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6670519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l57371/pseuds/l57371
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pain is too much, Wilson tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unrelenting

Knives. Chainsaws. Red hot pokers. Shards of glass. Sharp teeth. Sharp sticks. All of it, all at once. And it still didn’t even come close to describing how much it hurt. Unrelenting, unstoppable, indescribable pain.

House sat in his office armchair, right hand clutching at his thigh in a futile attempt to massage away some of the pain, left hand in a vise grip around the handle of his cane. His face contorted as waves of agony rolled over his leg, again and again, until he thought he might scream. The torture had been unremitting for the last half an hour, and two Vicodin hadn’t even begun to touch it. He had debated a third but decided against it, knowing that if he did down yet another pill, he’d be staying put for the night, unable to drive or even move.

He made a decision. If the damned pain was finally going to kill him, it most certainly was not going to be here. Clenching both hands around the head of his cane, he slowly levered himself up from the chair, pausing for a moment when he was finally upright, slowly transferring some weight to his right leg to see if it would hold. After a few seconds of threatening to buckle and collapse altogether, it seemed that he would at least be able to walk – well, limp maybe, stumble, lurch even – so perhaps he’d be able to get to the car. House patted the pocket with the Vicodin vial in it, grabbed up his backpack and hobbled slowly out the door. Now to get to the parking lot without running into anyone, he thought. Ha. Fat chance.

He was just preparing to slide past Wilson’s closed office door, silently thanking an unusually cooperative universe, when the door swung open and Wilson exited, escorting out his patient with a dismissing hand on the elbow. He was smiling encouragingly, House noted. So this one will live, I guess. The smile faltered however when Wilson’s gaze moved to take in House and his awkward shuffling gate, much slower than usual, making his way toward the elevator. He gave the patient’s arm one last quick squeeze and then quickly joined his friend.

“You look like hell,” he opened cautiously, hands in his pockets, matching his stride to House’s and staying close, just in case.

“Thank you. And a merry fuck you to you, too.” House’s voice hitched slightly as another stab of pain made its way up and down the ruined thigh muscle. Wilson took in his pale face and the sheen of sweat, the way his arm muscles quivered as he leaned on the cane.

“You’re not driving,” he stated, finality in this voice.

“Well I’m certainly not walking,” House replied through gritted teeth.

“Have you taken a pill?” Wilson asked as they reached the elevator doors.

“No, I thought I’d try to ride this one out au naturel, thanks so much for asking,” House ground out in reply.

“How many?”

“Not enough.”

“How many is not enough?” Wilson’s voice was soft and House couldn’t hear the usual faint undertone of accusation in it. Strangely enough, he felt compelled to answer honestly.

“I took two in the last half hour, since this started, and one about an hour before that. If I take any more I certainly won’t be driving. Or moving. Or possibly breathing.” House kept his gaze on the floor.

“Let me just go get my stuff and I’ll drive you home. I’ll be quick.” Wilson’s hand came up to rest on House’s shoulder as he spoke, and then with a quick squeeze, he was gone before House could say anything. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, Wilson’s tone brooked no argument, and the only thing that would happen if he’d tried to disagree would be that he would be forced to stand there longer to argue the point, and that he didn’t need.

He stood by the elevator doors, leaning heavily on the cane and watching the floor indicator lights absently. Dammit, why does he only ever touch me when I can’t do anything about it? Someday that would have to change, but not today. Not when his mind was clouded behind the hazy red curtain of pain. His shoulder tingled from the touch anyway.

A low electronic ding heralded the arrival of both the elevator and Wilson, who resumed his place close to House’s right side and laid a guiding hand on the small of House’s back, shepherding him into the lift, then turning and reaching across him to hit the button for the main floor. The hand remained on House’s back, lightly rubbing in small circles.

“Getting any better?” Wilson asked, voice soft, eyes concentrating on the lights of the floor display as they moved slowly downward.

“No.”

“Getting any worse?”

House sighed softly. “No.”

Wilson nodded slightly. The car reached the main floor finally and the doors swished open onto the clinic, bustling in a beehive of frenetic activity as doctors and nurses and patients all hurried through on their way in or out. House took a deep breath and exited the elevator, planting the cane heavily and leaning on it more than usual with each step. Wilson stuck to House’s side, running interference, clearing the path to the door.

He caught sight of Cuddy who was talking with a nurse in the anteroom of her office and moved slightly to shield the sight of House’s pained limp and attempted escape from her but wasn’t quite quick enough. She turned from the nurse and looked as though she were going to attempt to intercept the pair but halted at Wilson’s quick look and shake of the head. As they passed by, House looked up briefly and saw her lips draw down to a thin line. She dropped her gaze and turned back to the nurse.

There’s one battle I won’t have to fight today. Wonder what made her give in so quick, House thought absently. Already they were almost to the sliding main doors.

“Wait here, I’ll go get my car and pick you up,” Wilson said, retrieving his hand from House’s back. He immediately missed its presence and warmth, its reassuring comfort. Stop that, he scolded himself. Outwardly he just nodded and lowered himself carefully onto a bench beside the door. His hand strayed back to his thigh, scouring viciously into the divot with the heel of his hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing as his head swam from the pain and the drugs. In, out. Don’t think about the pain. In, out. Don’t think about Wilson’s hands. In, out. Don’t think, period. The hands he was trying very hard not to think about returned, one on his shoulder, the other on his arm, coaxing him up to a standing position. House opened his eyes and took in the sight of Wilson face, very close to his own, and a thrill of excitement surfed over the waves of pain for just a second.

Slowly he grunted his way upright again and shrugged off Wilson’s grasp. “I may be a cripple, but I’m not completely helpless,” he growled. Had to keep up appearances, had to get in the shot where he could.

“No, not helpless. Hopeless maybe,” Wilson joked lightly, hovering close behind as they made their way toward the idling car. “Man, you’ll do anything to get out of work early, won’t you?”

House snorted a small puff of laughter as he lowered himself awkwardly into the passenger seat, trying to both not fall and not bend his leg any more than necessary in the operation. Finally he got sat down and swung his left leg into the car, then used both hands to pick up his right leg and move it slowly around and onto the seat. Wilson laid his hand on House’s knee as he moved the leg, protecting it from being banged on the dashboard during the awkward maneuver. When House finally got settled Wilson went to close the door.

“I’ll be back in a second, just gotta run into the clinic for something,” he said as he shut the door softly. House just laid his head back against the cushy seat and clenched his eyes shut again. Wilson was true to his word and came back quickly, hefting a bag onto the back seat as he swung lithely into the driver’s seat and belted himself in.

“Doing okay?” he asked as he checked his mirrors and pulled out into traffic.

“Just peachy,” House gritted. His hands gripped convulsively at the muscles as they twitched and rolled through spasm after spasm after spasm. They stayed like that for the rest of the trip, working at the muscles uselessly. Wilson glanced over at him, eyes darting from his face to his hands and back again, and then stepping on the accelerator a little harder each time. He never speeds, House thought. I really must look like hell if he’s speeding.

In less time than usual they pulled up in front of House’s apartment building, luckily scoring a parking spot just outside the front door. House pressed his lips together and took in a deep breath through his nose, willing the pain down for just a minute, just long enough to get to his bed. The door opened and he opened his eyes to find Wilson had already shut off the car and come around to his side.

“Okay, last leg of the journey. So to speak,” Wilson smiled slightly as he offered his arm for House to grab. He swung his legs out to the pavement and inched his way to the edge of the seat, planting his cane firmly beside his foot. He looked at the arm and grimaced, then grasped it firmly in his left hand, using both Wilson and his cane to haul himself up and out of the car.

House stood up as straight as possible and was about to let go of Wilson’s arm when a fresh bolt of pain shot through his leg, hip to ankle. His knee buckled, refusing to hold his weight. He felt himself start to go down and dug his fingers desperately into Wilson’s supporting arm, flailing wildly with the cane in his right as he tried to get it stable enough to lean some weight on. Wilson was faster though, and stepped into House’s space, wrapping his free arm around his waist and firmly pulling House’s body against his own, deftly moving his own leg so that it wouldn’t jostle the injured one. For a moment they just stood that way, bodies pressed together, arms around each other, breathing heavily with both exertion and adrenalin, waiting for the pain to subside enough to let House move.

Finally it began to recede and House pried his fingers from Wilson’s arm, noting ruefully the bruises already beginning to form. He retrieved his arm from Wilson’s waist and got his cane under him, preparing himself to shift his weight to the right. Wilson flexed the fingers on his hand and stretched out the strained muscles in his arm as he supported House’s weight with the other, still wrapped securely around House’s body, holding him tightly.

“Okay?” he asked when he felt House begin to shift his weight.

“I think so,” House breathed. He glanced pointedly at the marks on Wilson’s arm. “Good luck explaining those away. Someone will think I’m abusing you.”

“Everybody already thinks that,” Wilson said. He shifted slightly and allowed House to support his own weight again, but stayed close by in case he was needed again. “Sometimes I find pamphlets on spousal abuse in my mail, you know.” He turned his face to House and grinned widely.

House snorted. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” He looked back and the car and then up toward his front door. “Or off the road, I guess.”

They moved slowly toward the steps at the entrance to the building, stopping briefly to rest before tackling them. Wilson stepped forward and placed his shoulder under House’s right arm, his own arm around House’s waist, and used his body to hoist House up the three stairs and into the lobby of the building, then let go of him to move forward and unlock House’s door with his key.

Stepping inside, House dropped his bag immediately inside the door and started a slow hobble toward the couch. Wilson stepped in front of him, blocking the way.

“Uh uh, once you go down you’re not going to get back up, and I’m not carrying you any more today. Bed.” He pointed down the hallway and grabbed onto House’s arm, gently turning the man in that direction.

“Well, I knew you weren’t getting any, but I didn’t know it’d make you this bossy. You’re just trying to take advantage of the poor cripple, aren’t you? Admit it, you’re just after me for my body,” House said, attempting sarcasm. He had a feeling it came out more as a whine though.

“Yes, I fully intend to strip you naked and have my way with you as soon as I can get you in the bed,” Wilson said, matching the sarcasm in House’s voice with levity in his own. “And I don’t like to be kept waiting, so move it.”

House had to stop and catch his breath. If only, he thought. Glancing quickly at Wilson’s face he saw the smirk there and tamped down the desire to tell him inappropriate things, like that House wouldn’t keep him waiting. That House wouldn’t be at all opposed to Wilson having his way with him. Wilson was pushing gently on his arm, so he gave himself a mental shake and started slowly toward the bedroom.

“Go and get yourself into bed, I just have to run out to the car and I’ll be right back. I’ll order dinner too, what do you want?” Wilson said, moving away and back toward the front door. “I can order pizza if you like.”

“Not hungry,” House grunted.

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry, I asked what you wanted to eat. You’re going to eat. You can’t survive on Vicodin and coffee alone.”

“That’s what you think,” grumbled House. “I’ve managed to survive on it so far.”

“Yes, and you’re the picture of health too,” Wilson said, pausing in the doorway. “I can cook, if you’d rather.”

House thought for a second as he made his way down the hall. “Do I have any pasta?”

Wilson grinned. “I’ll look,” he said as he disappeared out the door.

House turned the corner into his bedroom and lowered himself onto the bed, sighing as he landed. He used his cane to push off his shoes but discovered it didn’t work as well for socks. He leaned it up against the night stand. Fine, I’ll start at the top and work my way down then, he thought obstinately, and went to work unbuttoning his overshirt. He pulled it off and threw it in the general direction of the closet and was about to start on the jeans when Wilson came bounding back into the apartment clutching the bag he had gotten from the clinic.

“No pasta, unless you count Kraft Dinner in a box. Honestly, do you ever buy real food or just steal mine?” Wilson paused in the doorway, then tossed the bag on the bed and approached House, kneeling in front of him. “Come on, let’s get you into bed. Then we can discuss dinner plans.”

“I’m fine, I can do this myself,” House groused.

Wilson raised an eyebrow at House while reaching for his good leg. “Shut up and cooperate.” He tugged on House’s sock, pulling it off, then moved to the other leg, cautiously moving the fabric over and off his right foot. “All right, now stand up and undo the pants.”

House pushed against the bed, hoisting himself up a little. Wilson again pushed his shoulder under House’s arm and took his weight while House popped the button and lowered the fly with one hand.

“Okay, just stay still for a sec,” Wilson said, moving out from under House’s arm and sliding his fingers under the waistband of House’s jeans, pushing lightly downwards, peeling the jeans from his body. House was glad of the pain then, and glad also that Wilson couldn’t see his face. He caught his breath and closed his eyes as Wilson worked his jeans off his hips, thinking that this came so close to one of his favourite fantasies, close but so far away. In the fantasy, there was no pain.

“You can sit back down now,” Wilson said softly. He had the jeans almost down to his knees. House hadn’t even noticed, distracted by his fantasy. He tried to drop gracefully back to the bed, but ended up collapsing in an ungainly heap. Wilson chuckled and dropped back to his knees, pulling the pants off over House’s feet. He rose and moved to the dresser, opened a drawer and pulled out a soft t-shirt that House often slept in. He tossed it at House.

“Here, change your shirt and then I have something for you.” House stripped off his own undershirt, sweat soaked from the physical exertion, and pulled on the fresh one. He was down to a t-shirt and boxers and Wilson was still in the room. Still on fantasy track here, he thought. Too bad it’s only fantasy.

Wilson pulled out a pre-loaded syringe.

“Morphine, Wilson? Aw, you shouldn’t have,” House drawled.

“I didn’t. It’s tramadol. Nonnarcotic, synthetic opioid. Has some interesting side effects though,” he said, tapping out the air bubbles. “Confusion, euphoria, nervousness are all possible. It’ll probably put you out too.”

“So will Vicodin,” House protested.

“And that’s worked so well for you today too. Just try this, will you? It might work, it might help.” Wilson brandished the hypodermic.

House was silent for a few seconds. “Intravenous or intramuscular?” he finally asked.

“Present backside!” Wilson said, smiling.

House snorted and lay down, rolling onto his left side. Wilson sat down behind him and pulled the elastic of his boxers down just enough to expose the large muscle. He carefully cleaned the area with an alcohol swab and then slid the needle home, injecting the tramadol. When he was finished he withdrew the needle and massaged the area lightly with his fingers. “There you go. Now I’m going to go see if I can scare up something for dinner.”

 

Ten minutes later Wilson returned to the bedroom. House was still lying on his side, waiting to see how long, if, the medication was going to take to start working. The muscle still screamed at him, stabbing pains running up and down the thigh making the remaining tissue jump and twitch on its own. Wilson stood at the doorway for a minute, silent, until House finally looked around at him and frowned.

“Are you going to come in or just stand there and watch? This isn’t exactly a spectator sport, you know.”

“I called the pizza place. Turns out they deliver pasta too. I have two orders of spaghetti Bolognese coming, probably in about 15 minutes. Will that do you?”

“Sure, fine. Doesn’t matter much, I’m not hungry.”

“You still need to eat,” Wilson replied. The man was nothing if not stubborn. “Feel anything? Any better?”

“Not yet, no. I don’t think so.” House paused, his hand still working at the twitchy muscle. “I thought you were getting some dinner?” He said finally, glancing at Wilson still in the doorway.

“It’s coming, House, I said that, I just phoned … Wait, don’t you remember?” Wilson peered at him carefully, approaching the bed. “We just talked about that. Spaghetti. Being delivered.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” House closed his eyes again, his hand slowing down on his thigh. Suddenly he felt the bed dip behind him as Wilson sat down, and his hand being gently moved off his leg as Wilson’s hands took over massaging the muscle, trying to get it to stop its cramping. Up and down he felt Wilson’s hands moving, softly pushing his fingers into the muscle and stroking. Finally, finally, the muscle began to loosen up, and House nearly cried with relief as the bolts of pain began to lessen and finally stopped their constant barrage, slowing down to only occasional hits.

The door bell rang and Wilson left the bed to go pay for the food. By the time he had dished it out on to plates and put the plates on a tray, House was nearly asleep.

“Dinner’s served,” Wilson sang out as he brought the tray into the bedroom. House jerked a little and woke up. “Oops, sorry,” Wilson whispered.

“Why worry about whispering now?” House grouched. “I’m already awake.”

“Right. Sorry,” Wilson replied. He laid the tray gently on the bed. “Here. Eat.” He picked up his own fork and started winding the noodles around it.

House watched as Wilson slurped the end of a noodle into his mouth. He was foggy, he could feel it, and for a moment he was lost in the vision of the noodle disappearing between Wilson’s lips, red lips, soft lips lips that kiss kiss want to kiss those lips…

“Hey,” Wilson’s voice sounded like it was coming from across a field. “Hey, you in there?”

House shut his eyes hard and opened them again. He blinked a couple of times and shook his head a little. “Uh huh…”

“Good. Eat at least a few bites of this. Obviously the tramadol is starting to work,” he grinned.

House picked up the fork and started eating slowly. He managed about four bites of spaghetti before he forgot what he was doing and just stared at the fork for a minute. Wilson chuckled softly and took the fork out of his hand. He cleared away the dishes and took them to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water that he set on the night-stand.

“Okay, I think you’re going to be out for a while, huh? I don’t think I should leave for a little while at least, not while you’re doped up like this.”

House merely stared at the place where his fork had been.

“Hello? You listening to me?” Wilson sat back down on the bed and waved his hand in front of House’s eyes.

“What?” House brought his eyes up to Wilson’s face again, then let his head drop down to the pillow.

“I said I think I should stay for a little while. What do you think?” Wilson asked again.

“Yeah, stay,” House said, voice breathy and soft, eyes sliding closed.

“Okay, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Wilson shifted to get up from the bed, but House’s hand landed clumsily on his leg and his fingers crawled up Wilson’s body until he reached the loose fabric of his shirt billowing out from the waistband of his pants. House pinched the fabric between two fingers and plucked at it, pulling it toward himself.

“Stay…” he breathed, pulling again at Wilson’s shirt.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to undress me,” Wilson said as he toed off his shoes and pulled at his tie. “I’ll stay if you want me to.” He pulled a pillow toward himself and settled back against the headboard.

“Undress … ‘sfine … ‘sgood,” House slurred. He forced his eyes open and looked blearily up at Wilson, sitting on his bed. “Can if you want,” he said.

Wilson snorted a laugh. “No, thanks, that’s fine.” He glanced down at the ruined thigh. “How’s the pain now?”

“’Sfine…” House said again. “Doesn’t hurt much at all now.” Again he plucked at Wilson’s shirt. “Why a shirt?” he asked.

“Why … what do you mean, why a shirt? Why do I wear a shirt? So I don’t go around naked.” Wilson smiled as he answered.

“No, why always buttons?” House frowned slightly at his own words, confusing even himself. “Why always a shirt with buttons? So formal. Never relax. Need to relax sometimes. Need to take off the shirt sometimes.”

“You are so high,” Wilson laughed. “Fine. Will it make you happy if I take off the shirt?”

House frowned again. “No.” He kept tugging at it. Wilson sighed and started on the buttons, finally pulling it off and folding it, letting it drop to the floor. House’s eyes slid closed again, but his fingers made their way up Wilson’s body again to his undershirt and he latched on to it, wrapping his fingers with the hem, tugging softly again.

“No, House, I’m not taking off that one too,” Wilson protested.

“Kay…” House breathed, still tugging the hem of the shirt toward himself. His breathing slowed and deepened and Wilson watched as the muscles of his body, so tightly wound before when in the midst of unrelenting pain, relaxed and loosened, allowing his friend to finally sleep.

He waited a few more minutes and then attempted to gently extricate his shirt from House’s fingers, but every time he moved House clenched it tighter in his fist, not allowing Wilson any escape. He sighed and smiled slightly, then shifted himself downward on the bed until his head rested on the pillow, his shirt rucked up and held hostage in House’s hand, and let himself drop off to sleep too.

*****

House struggled to swim up from the swirling depths of the drug haze. He was comfortable, his leg didn’t hurt at all, and he was cuddled up against Wilson’s side, fingers entangled in the hem of Wilson’s undershirt. His face was pressed into Wilson’s neck, and the skin was moist where his breath brushed against it. Wait, what?

Wilson was attempting to move, that’s why he’d woken up. Without really knowing why, House tightened his arm and attempted to speak. He wanted Wilson to stay right where he was. What came out was merely a grunted “nuuh,” and a weak one at that.

“It’s okay, House,” Wilson whispered, “I just have to turn over. I’m not leaving.” This time House let him move when he shifted, but pulled him close again as soon as he had turned. Now he was pressed up against Wilson’s back, arm still over his waist.

Wilson grinned tiredly and laid his arm over House’s, entwining his fingers with the other man’s, and went back to sleep.

 

The first thing House was aware of was light. He pried his eyes open and peered blearily in the direction of the unwelcome intrusion. Sunlight. Peeking through the blinds on his bedroom window. Morning? When did that happen? Think back, think back… Oh yeah, Wilson and his wonder drugs.

That stuff really knocked me for a loop. I don’t remember... oh shit. His awareness came slowly back to him and he realized just who he was holding. Wilson. Oh shit oh shit oh shit, he chanted. What did I say? Why is he letting me hold him like this?

He was still on his left side, spooned right up against Wilson with no space at all between them. His arm was still over Wilson’s waist and holding the man against himself tightly, his face pressed into the crook of Wilson’s neck.

As soon as his body realized exactly where it was, it registered its approval with the choice of positions and partners. A sudden rush of desire nearly overwhelmed him as it coursed through his body, flooding arms and legs and fingers and toes with warmth and a lovely tingling sensation. Most notably, he felt a nascent erection, and soon he wouldn’t be the only one feeling it. He held still for a moment and listened to Wilson’s breathing; still deep and even. Good, not awake yet then. Maybe he could beat back the morning wood before Wilson noticed then.

Wilson shifted a little in his sleep, tightening his fingers over House’s and brushing his ass lightly over House’s hardening cock, turning his face a little toward the light. House shut his eyes as the tingle started again and gasped a small breath. Maybe … maybe Wilson wouldn’t be opposed? Maybe he could get away with just a small kiss, just a little tiny kiss before the man woke up?

House opened his eyes again and steeled himself. He placed his lips lightly on Wilson’s warm neck, inhaling the scent of the man, a mix of aftershave and sweat and heat and sleep that was just immutably, incontrovertibly, undeniably Wilson. House pursed his lips slightly and softly kissed Wilson’s neck. He held his breath.

Wilson made a soft noise deep in his throat, a sleepy moan that nonetheless sent sparks shooting from House’s brain right down his spine. He kissed another spot on the younger man’s neck and received another moan in response, this time paired with a small shift of position, lifting his chin and baring more skin to House’s lips.

Probably is dreaming about some sexy nurse, House thought, kissing again, just under his ear, and flicking the skin lightly with the tip of his tongue. Need to stop...

Wilson’s breathing hitched with the touch of House’s tongue to his skin. He gasped lightly in his sleep, mouth working vaguely, and House just caught the whisper of a word as it escaped the sleeping man’s lips. “House…”

All time stopped and House blinked, eyelashes brushing against the warm skin of Wilson’s neck. Blood roared in his ears as he processed what he’d heard, what he thought he’d heard, maybe it was just a breath. Maybe he didn’t actually hear that. Maybe he should try kissing that spot again to see what happened.

He reached over and pressed his lips to the spot just under Wilson’s ear again, flicking his tongue over the skin a little harder. He was rewarded with a moan and two sleepy words. “Yes, House…” The younger man stretched his limbs languidly in his sleep and pressed back into House’s body, brushing his ass against House’s fully erect cock as he did so. Shivers passed up and down his body at the touch.

House stopped and pulled his lips away from Wilson’s neck reluctantly. He had to think. What were the choices here? Pull away, get out of the bed and pretend it didn’t exist. Pretend everything was a joke and laugh about it for a few days. Or, and this was the really dangerous one, continue. Kiss his neck, run his hands over Wilson’s chest and stomach, open the pants, find out if Wilson’s reputation was well-deserved. Dangerous, yes but also the most appealing, especially when he was laying in a warm bed after the best sleep he’d had in ages, his leg was thankfully, mercifully quiet for once and he had a warm, sleeping Wilson, who apparently did want him after all, lying in his arms, moaning for it.

Wilson grunted softly in his sleep, turning his face toward House and pushing himself backwards again, harder into House’s body. To hell with thinking. He resumed kissing Wilson’s neck, sucking at the skin slightly and flicking the tip of his tongue over places he’d just bitten. He loosened his fingers from the twisted edge of Wilson’s undershirt and ran his palm slowly up his belly and chest, stopping briefly to rub a circle over an erect nipple. Wilson groaned and arched back, breath catching, eyes flickering under closed eyelids. House watched the other man’s eyes as he slowly woke up, flickering open, squinting shut and then opening again, blinking rapidly. He stilled the movements of his hand and drew his lips back, breathing heavily against Wilson’s moist neck, waiting.

Finally Wilson’s eyes focused and he spoke, voice still thick with sleep. “Why’d you stop?”

House blinked. “Why’d I stop what?”

“Kissing me. Kissing my neck. Felt good.”

House tentatively tightened his arm again and brought his lips back to Wilson’s skin. “This feels good?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“Really good,” Wilson whispered, eyes sliding shut again. “Don’t stop.” He brought his hand up to House’s, grasping it in his own and pushing it over his own chest, guiding it. House groaned and nipped lightly at the skin of Wilson’s shoulder, moving aside the collar of his shirt with his nose. He brought his hand down and under the hem of the undershirt, pushing it up, and ran his hand over the hot skin of Wilson’s belly, tracing the line of fine hairs that ran up the middle of his belly from his belt to his chest, then separated and led the way to his nipples. He flicked his finger tips over first one, then the other, listening intently to the gasp and hitch in Wilson’s breath as he did so. He pushed the shirt up further and coaxed it over Wilson’s arms and head, balling it up and throwing it to the floor as soon as it was free.

His hand returned to Wilson’s chest and his lips returned to Wilson’s throat, pulling the man over onto his back for better access. Now that he could finally reach, he trailed his lips up the line of Wilson’s jaw, feeling the slight burn of morning stubble on his lips, scraping his tongue over the bristly skin. He ran his hand up Wilson’s side, rubbing the pad of his thumb over a nipple as he passed, and wrapped his hand around a strong bicep, pulling Wilson’s arm around himself. The man complied readily, bringing both arms up and around House’s back, fingers tracing the outlines of muscles, the flats of his palms rubbing and smoothing over the warm skin of House’s back.

Finally House had worked himself upwards enough to be able to kiss Wilson properly, and without wasting a second he did just that, touching his lips to Wilson’s softly, tentatively, hesitantly. Wilson smiled into the kiss and his eyes slid shut as he opened his mouth and sucked lightly on House’s top lip, then bottom, running his tongue along the outer edge of House’s mouth. He slid his tongue between House’s lips and touched the tip to House’s own. House moaned at the contact, thrusting his tongue roughly into Wilson’s mouth, moaning again when he felt Wilson sucking lightly on it and his hand tangling in House’s hair, pulling him even closer.

They continued to kiss and caress until House nearly couldn’t stand it any more, he had to feel Wilson, really feel him. He trailed a hand down to Wilson’s waistline and was a little frustrated to feel he still had his belt on as well as his pants. He went to work on the belt buckle but without being able to see, as he was currently occupied with Wilson’s fascinating lips and his intriguing tongue and didn’t want to let either of them go, he couldn’t get very far with unbuckling it. Wilson both heard and felt the frustrated groan House let out when he couldn’t get the belt to unfasten, and he chuckled quietly into the kiss. Finally he came to the rescue, breaking reluctantly away from House’s lips and tongue and moving far enough away that he could get to the belt buckle and undo it. He quickly moved on to the pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them as well, then moved to sit up and kneel so he could take them off, leaving House laying on his side, watching intently with his mouth open, moist lips parted.

Wilson pushed down the pants and boxers, disentangling himself from them and throwing them over the side of the bed, and House took his first look at Wilson, in all his naked glory, cock hard and straining, tiny bead of liquid oozing from the tip. House’s breath left him in a whoosh and his eyes widened, taking in the sight.

“Now you, too,” Wilson said, voice low and rough, husky with desire.

“Me … what?” House’s confusion resulting from the glorious sight before him made Wilson chuckle throatily.

“You get to lose you boxers now too,” Wilson said, leaning over House and pushing his shoulders down until he was laying on his back. When he was prone, Wilson moved down to House’s hips, hooking his fingers into the elastic and tugging the offending boxers down, over his hips, sliding them out from under his ass, and then lifting the elastic over House’s flushed, aching cock.

As he pulled, Wilson lowered his head and blew a stream of hot air over House’s bobbing erection, making it twitch and jump in response, and the man himself gasp and cry out. Wilson blew another breath out over House’s cock before working the boxers down and over his feet, tossing them aside. Coming back up, he stopped again and blew a third breath out, but this time instead of continuing upward he contemplated the erect member for a few seconds studiously, then tentatively reached out with his tongue and ran the tip of it from the base of House’s cock to the head, listening to House moan and watching him writhe on the bed. Then he did it again.

The third time Wilson did it he stopped at the head and sucked it lightly between his lips, running the tip of his tongue up and down the slit until he felt House’s hands land on his shoulders, grasping at him, pulling him upwards.

“Aaaahh … no, stop … have to stop,” House gasped.

“What’s the matter? Is it your leg?” Wilson was instantly alert and starting to move away when House grabbed him, one hand on his arm, the other in his hair, and pulled, hard.

“No, leg’s fine,” House panted, “but if you keep that up this’ll be over way too soon.” He grunted as Wilson landed on top of him, chest to chest, and a small part of his brain marveled at the way Wilson still managed to miss the sore leg, even with such a clumsy landing. He wrapped his arms tightly around Wilson’s back and held him close, devouring his lips in a searing kiss as Wilson got his knees under him and thrust his hips forward, rubbing their cocks together. House moaned into Wilson’s mouth, the contact almost too much to bear after all the teasing foreplay.

Wilson thrust again and again, each time rubbing his cock on alternate sides of House’s, first left, then right, then left again, until House had to break the kiss and gasp a deep breath, moaning harshly. He rolled a little to his left and took Wilson with him, so that they were lying on their sides facing each other. Wilson could no longer thrust against him, but now House could bring his hand down between them and grasp their two cocks together, pressing them tightly against one another.

Slowly he stroked up and down once, then released their joined cocks and collected the pre-ejaculate forming on both heads, smearing it around his palm and fingers. He then reached back down and grasped hold again, this time lubricated by their own fluids mixed together. The sensation of the slick slide of velvety skin over rock hard dicks shot straight through him and he was on the edge of orgasm much too quickly.

He released their joined cocks and reached up to find one of Wilson’s hands, pulling it down with him to join his on their throbbing cocks. Together they stroked up and down, swiping pads of thumbs over heads of cocks and using the fluid to lubricate. Soon Wilson’s rhythmic pumping turned erratic and desperate and he was panting against House’s shoulder.

“House, oh god, House, can’t ... can’t hold ... oh fuck!” He arched his back and stopped moving, stopped breathing, just stopped, quivering, muscles tensed, then started to come with a guttural cry, shooting hot semen up and over their joined fists, up his belly and over House’s stomach.

House lost himself in Wilson’s expression of sated bliss, his eyes shut, eyebrows raised and furrowed, mouth open, eminently kissable lips rounded in an “oh” shape. Finally he shot his last and opened his eyes again, gone so dark with lust and passion as to be almost black in the burgeoning morning light. His lips curled up into a satisfied smile. He shifted closer to House, kissing his lips separately, then together, then licking his way around them. He moved House’s hand off their still joined cocks, letting his spent and softening one drop and curling his hand tightly around House’s still hard, still throbbing, still quivering cock.

Wilson resumed pumping House’s cock using a long stroke and a quick rhythm, and all House could do was hang on for the ride. He clutched at Wilson’s shoulder, pulling him closer, desperately pillaging Wilson’s mouth with kisses and nibbles and licks until he could feel the hot coil of orgasm building in his groin, building quickly, reaching up House’s back and into his belly, radiating down his legs and up his arms and right into his brain as it exploded outward and he came hard, gasping for breath as he shot come up and over both their bellies, joining Wilson’s in making them sticky and slick.

When his awareness returned he found himself in Wilson’s arms, wrapped securely and held tight against the younger man. There was skin against his lips, so he kissed it, unsure of exactly where it was. Ah, throat, he thought when Wilson tilted his chin down and captured House’s lips with his own. He nuzzled against Wilson’s face, cheek, throat, kissing and licking whatever skin he could reach. Suddenly his stomach growled.

Wilson snorted laughter against his cheek. “See, I told you you should have eaten.”

“Oh, shut up.” House couldn’t help laughing as well.

Wilson disentangled his limbs from House’s, sitting back and reaching down off the bed. His hand returned with House’s t-shirt from the night before, which he used to swipe the worst of the mess off his own belly and then House’s. “Well, your breakfast choices are leftover spaghetti or going out. Which one do you want?”

“How about pancakes?” House asked, waggling his eyebrows and screwing his mouth down into a pout.

“I told you, you don’t have any food in the house. You don’t even have any ingredients to make food with. Spaghetti or a diner.”

“Fine, let’s go out for bacon and eggs.”

“How’s the leg? Need pills?” Wilson asked with an attempt at nonchalance as he turned the legs of his pants right side out.

“Good, actually, and I don’t think so. Not immediately. What was the name of that wonder drug of yours again?” House ran a hand over the ruined muscle, marveling a little at the experience of not waking up in pain.

“Tramadol.”

“Good. Write that down, it may come in handy again.”

Wilson smiled to himself, making sure to face away from House so he wouldn’t see. “Get dressed so we can go. Apparently we have a lot to talk about.”

“No we don’t. There’s nothing to talk about.” House frowned at Wilson darkly.

“You don’t think we need to talk about this,” Wilson stated disbelievingly.

“I’d rather talk about the drugs.”

Wilson’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, we can talk about that too.”

House groaned and pressed a pillow over his face. “You’re not going to shut up until we talk, are you?” His voice was muffled but Wilson could still hear the strain.

“No, I’m not. I need to know, House. I need to know what all this was about.”

“You couldn’t tell? I thought it was fairly obvious from the mind-blowing orgasm. It’s about sex!”

Wilson scoffed. “No it wasn’t. Not exclusively.”

“Fine. You want to know what this was about? It was about this.” On the last word, House grabbed Wilson’s arm and yanked hard, pulling him off balance so that he landed sideways on the bed. House pounced, pinning him to the bed by his shoulders, good leg sliding in between Wilson’s and holding him down. He crashed his lips down onto Wilson’s in a deep, bruising kiss, invading, pillaging, owning. Wilson’s protests were swallowed by House until he was no longer protesting and instead moaning his approval.

And House’s stomach growled again.

He pulled back reluctantly, sighing. “Breakfast?”

Wilson smiled and chuckled lightly. “Breakfast,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”


End file.
